


Watch Until We Blur

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Beads, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Begging, Blindfolds, Bondage, Collars, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Dildos, Dom/sub, Edging, Forced Orgasm, Gag, Improvisation, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Obedience, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, PWP, Paddling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Spanking, Toys, Vibrators, basically a kink-fest, handcuffs of opportunity, probably more as we go, yep adding some more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 22:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12735867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: It wasn't something he'd ever be into, it really wasn't something he was even vaguely interested in. He had been raised in the Midwest, for crying out loud--land of civility, kindness, and politeness. The idea of hurting someone, of holding something back from them or making them beg? That wasn't something he was into, right?Wrong. So, so wrong. Because if there was one person who knew exactly how to push him right up to his comfort level and then right over the edge, it was Pete Wentz.





	1. "The Thing"

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends!! *waves* So YES, I knowww I have like fifteen WIPs, I knowwww that I signed up for two separate holiday challenges, I knowwwww that I have an actual job that's actually quite demanding...but hey. I had to do this. For science. 
> 
> Basically, this is my dumping ground for all the bondage-related thoughts that are always running through my head. I can't help it, okay? I like my kinks, but I know they don't always belong in some of my stories. So this is going to be just a revolving door of BDSM stuf and Peterick. If that's not your cup of tea, I totally understand! If that's something you think you'd be into, just be forwarded I have no update schedule and no solid plans other than a second chapter halfway written and a whole lot of kinks I've always wanted to try on with Pete and Patrick. Also just know...there's not a lot of plot. Maybe here and there we'll have some plot but...who knows? This is smut, pure and simple. 
> 
> If you're still with me, please read the tags and make sure you're not totally against any of the things mentioned. All I ask is that you don't hate me and/or be a jerk if this isn't your cup of tea. But otherwise, may I be the first to welcome you to the to the kink-fest, my friends!

 

 

He never would have said prior to Pete that he was anything close to a masochist. He probably would have been offended, honestly, if you had asked him. The idea of willingly hurting someone, denying them pleasure or giving them pain...it was cruel, it was needless.

It was _amazing_.

That conviction, that strength of opinion…all that changed when he fell in love with Pete Wentz. Oh, it didn’t happen right away, no. There were years of friendship between their first meeting and their first ruinous, reckless, ridiculous night together. And then there was almost a year between _that night_ and the first time he did anything to Pete that wasn’t strictly loving. Years to build up a healthy baseline for how utterly _idiotic_ he could be, to learn all the hundred ways Pete would push his buttons and cackle that stupid braying laugh that sounded somewhere between a chainsaw and a dry heave. He loved to poke, prod at of Patrick’s soft bits and cock his head so his bangs fell in his stupidly beautiful eyes and pretend he wasn’t the most annoying person in the goddamned world.

Maybe that was really where it started. The horribly, utterly wrong sense of _satisfaction_ the first time Pete--his boyfriend--had said something _really_  annoying and Patrick just wound back and socked him, hard, in the mouth. His hand had come away bloody and he wasn’t sure whose blood it was, but it hadn’t mattered. Pete had jumped to his feet, hands raised to bandy blows back...and then he had almost melted. His posture had relaxed, flowing back as he plopped onto the couch with a lazy smile, working his jaw back into place and wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nice one, Peppermint Patty.” He had smirked the words out before jumping up to run away from Patrick’s chasing feet and shouted curses, the braying laugh flowing behind him like a tattered ribbon.

Or maybe it was the time Pete had made one too many fart jokes and Patrick’s arm had extended like a gunshot to push him off his perch on the arm of the couch. He had tumbled to the floor with a yelp that had made something delicious thrum through him. So what if he found his mind drifting back to the way Pete’s eyes had shone with mirth when he poked his head up from behind the upholstery? It was just Pete.

It also could have been the way Pete begged and pled for Patrick to come with him to every tattoo appointment ever. Like a good friend, Patrick would grouse the whole way over before dutifully holding Pete’s hand as the tattoo needle dug into his skin and etched in whatever design was the artwork for the week. If his eyes had lingered on the way Pete’s lower lip was bitten between his teeth, if he had noticed the way the tendons in his neck stood out as he breathed through his nose as the artist worked over a particularly tender place...so what? Pete was a ridiculously beautiful specimen of humanity, even more so trembling on the tattooist’s table shirtless and shimmering under the lights. Sure, he saw way his back arched when the needle was away for more ink, the pain skittering through him like sparks from a firework bouncing across the pavement. Of course Patrick noticed the way he would jump up afterward the session in the world’s best humor, all bright smiles and pride that he had made it, sparkling with delight at the ache, a look on his face close to orgasm when he pressed at the bandaged place...no, he definitely didn’t think about all those things for weeks afterwards.

But finally they both accepted that there was more between them then just best friend hugs, more than just sharing a bed because there were only two of them and four guys…that Pete didn’t crawl into Patrick’s bunk anymore just because of his nightmares or insomnia. There was an awkward, fumbling, _perfect_ afternoon of blowjobs and fingering and laughter where they discovered each other all over again. Pete’s hands looked amazing against his skin, Patrick decided...he looked perfect spread out underneath him, around him, above him, inside him. Any way with Pete was indescribable.

But oh, Pete tried to describe it anyways. He wrote songs about how much he loved the way Patrick’s nose crinkled in the morning, about the way he sounded when he mumbled in his sleep, the way his blue eyes shone like sapphires when he smiled...and everyone _hated_ him. Joe would make the thickest, most phleghmy hacking sounds when Pete would shove lyrics into his hands, and Andy would calmly shake his head and ask him to bring bleach next time he wanted him to read words about the shape of Patrick’s ass. Patrick--livid and mortally embarrassed--contemplated running away to Peru to herd Llamas and learn that weird box guitar that was native to the mountains, but settled for punching Pete instead. The third time it happened, he hauled him up from where they were all sitting in the lounge trying to do things bands did--like practice and write new material!--and shut them both into the back with a shouted apology barely able to be heard over the noises of protest from the other half of the band.

“What is your _fucking problem_??” He asked as he shoved Pete hard and tackled him onto the bed, tussling like school kids rolling around the playground over who got the last ride down the slide. The grade school analogy stopped when he realized that Pete’s pupils were blown, that he was entirely and inescapably _hard_ underneath him as he struggled futilely against Patrick’s grip on his wrists. The sound of their harsh breathing was the only sound in the room, punctuated by Joe’s bright laugh as he and Andy left the bus with a slam of the ratty screen door. Pete’s eyes were riveted to his, huge and needy and bottomless with what Patrick suddenly recognized was naked want. “Uh, Pete?” He whispered, pulling his hands away from his wrists and gasping as a small moan of loss bubbled up from Pete’s throat. Gingerly, he replaced his hands, bracketing his wrists and watching in awe as Pete relaxed, melting under him like ice cream in the sun...except for his erection, which only seemed to take more interest in the proceedings, if that was possible.

“Yeah, you--c’mon.” Pete bucked his hips up against Patrick’s, making them both gasp as their cocks brushed through the layers separating them, and it was like something snapped. A light switch flicked on in his brain and he realized that Pete actually wanted someone to put him in his place.. _.in the best goddamned way ever._

He knew they should talk about this, he remembered somewhere in his teenage years he had stumbled across the definition of BDSM in the encyclopedia at school and read with huge eyes what _Bondage_ , _Domination_ and _Sado_ - _Masochism_ was all about. He knew there were safe words and colors and hard limits and lines...But all that flew out of his head when Pete murmured please in a way that was simultaneously imperious and unguarded, and he felt everything drain from his brain except for _Pete_.

Leaning down so he was pressing Pete’s wrists into the bed, he pushed his hips up so no part of them was touching except for where his hands held him captive. It was the best way he could think of to get an honest and not-sex-brain-addled answer out of him. “Hey.” He glared down at Pete, mustering up every shred of an intimidation factor that he’d ever had in his life. “You--you’ve gotta tell me to stop, or if it’s not okay, got it fuckhead?” Pete was nodding, an ecstatic smile starting to dawn over his face as he realized what was coming. Patrick just scowled, half in irritation at Pete because he knew he’d never say anything close to stop, and half in irritation at himself for not caring _that_ much.

Grabbing one of his ties--the copper-colored one that he hated--he tied it with fumbling, awkward fingers around Pete’s wrists, trying to ignore the huge smile on his face as he did it. After some awkward jostling and nearly chopping off his fingers to move the nightstand so he could tie the other end to something, Pete was restrained and Patrick once again straddled him, pushing his shirt up and over his head and realizing there was nowhere to put it. With a shrug, he decided it could bunch around Pete’s hands for all he cared--nobody was getting points for decor at this point, not with Pete starting to whine under him.

Scooting down, Patrick pulled his pants off with a scowl, delighting in the way that Pete was pulling against his binds as he tried to help. He was flopping about in a way that should have looked ridiculous, but instead just highlighted that he was _bound_ and at Patrick’s mercy and fuck if that wasn’t the greatest thing in the world. Without preamble he sucked Pete’s cock down with a single smooth motion, loving the startled yelp that ripped from Pete’s throat, the way his entire body stiffened for two seconds in shock before slumping down, pliant as taffy. Placing his hands on slim, caramel-colored hips, Patrick held him down and went for it; feathering his tongue with teasing licks just below the head, before pulling off with a delightful _pop_! Of suction.

Reaching into the nightstand, he grabbed the bottle of lube, coming back with his fingers slicked up to Pete nodding and spreading his legs eagerly.

“ _Yesyesyesyes_.” He blurs the words together as Patrick returns to his place between his thighs, ending them in a hiss of want as he slipped first one in, and in quick succession a second. He stretched and scissored, doing everything but what he knew Pete wanted until he was begging and babbling and God if that wasn’t _awesome_.

Eyes flicking up, taking in the sheen of sweat that now coated Pete’s brown, glistening over his chest and making his tattoos look like they had been drawn on with a fountain pen, Patrick decided he _liked_ this. Moving down, he bit a bruise into Pete’s groin as his fingers finally brushed that spot deep inside him that made him arch his back up like he had been touched with a live wire. The noise Pete made--it was a cross between a whine and a gasp, a groan and a plea and it made something dark and delicious curl in Patrick’s gut. He worked that place with fervor as he mouthed at Pete’s balls, the tender paper-thin skin feeling like velvet beneath his tongue. He waited, waited...after all, he’d had the last year of dating to become intimately familiar with how Pete looked when he was close. It was a certain way his brows drew together, it was the way his thighs started to tremble and he finally, blessedly stopped talking and started gasping wordlessly. Not groans, not mumbled protestations--great, gasping gulps of air as he balanced on the knife’s edge of pleasure.

That was when he pulled away.

Sitting back on his heels, he had a perfect vantage point to watch the way raw, naked need shuddered through Pete. The way his back arched just a few inches as he chased the pinnacle, a fool’s hope of regaining the promise of ecstasy. His eyes opened and he started to whine, to complain and bitch...but stopped when he saw what Patrick was doing. Lube-slick hand rubbing his cock languidly, he grinned at Pete knowing what this was doing to him, knowing that he loved watching him pleasure himself in any way. Hissing between his teeth at the coil of pleasure building inside him, he stopped when he noticed Pete’s hips working in time with his hand, like he could will himself into the contact he craved.

“Miss me?” He smirked, somehow feeling more confident than he ever thought he would with his cock jutting out of his pants. That was bolstered by Pete nodding like his head wasn’t attached, like the faster he moved it would convince Patrick to come back quicker.

“ _Fucking_ \--Patrick, c’mon, stop--”

“Stop what?” He purred, bending down to press a delicate kiss to the base of his cock, nose pressing at his balls before licking a stripe upwards. Pete just moaned, a pained sound that made him pause, forehead creasing with sudden concern. “Uhh...is this okay? Like, do you need a safe word or something? I think that’s what people do?”

Pete lifted his head and glared at him with undisguised contempt, like he was asking if they should stop because the sky was blue. “I swear--No, I don’t. How about if I don’t like it, I’ll kick you off the bed, deal?”

“Fucker.” Patrick glared, earlier ire renewed in the best way as he resolved to make Pete beg for it...and beg, and beg, and beg until he didn’t remember his own name, much less be able to string together a smart-ass sentence. So with the same dedication and precision he showed to a chord progression, or to restringing his guitar at the exact intervals recommended by the manufacturer...he set to work making Pete sing for him. He stroked and sucked, feathered and bit, bringing him to the edge again, and again, and again until Pete was a quivering, shaking mess under him.

The fourth time he crawled up over Pete’s body, gut curling and his cock feeling like it was going to burst at the way he was trembling, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes as he heaved for air, chest rising and falling rapidly as he bit his lip until it was white. He used his dry hand to turn Pete’s face upwards, waiting in silence until his eyes opened and met his own.

“What do you want?” He whispered and Pete just moaned, turning his face into his hand, mouth opening as he tried in vain to suck his thumb into his mouth. Patrick shook his head, wanting to see if Pete Wentz, the one who always had something smart to say, had finally run out of words.

“ _Please_.” He murmured, eyes locking with Patrick’s filled with more compliance than he’d ever seen in his best friend, even back when he was drugged within an inch of a vegetative state. It made something possessive curl in Patrick’s chest right alongside the desire, and he nodded. Reaching down, he coated his cock with lube before grabbing one of Pete’s legs and throwing it over his shoulder. He nuzzled the soft skin of Pete’s inner thigh, knowing that his sideburns would scratch in just the right way to make Pete moan. Sure enough--there it was, a rumbling groan that turned into a high gasp as he pushed inside, just breaching the tightness that pulled a moan from his own lips.

“You--” He gasped as he pushed in slowly, a slick, hot slide into the perfect tightness that welcomed him with eager need, watching with delight the way that Pete was arching into it, taking it without even a hitch of breath. When he finally bottomed out, he stilled as they both tried to catch their breath--Pete quivering with open-mouthed need and Patrick with the sudden realization that he’d seriously neglected his own aching cock for quite a while. “You don’t come until I do, go it?” Blown pupils constricted just a bit, the topaz showing around the iris in a slim outline, but Pete just nodded.

“Yes, Patrick.”

With a moan, his head fell to Pete’s shoulder, overwhelmed at the way obedience sounded falling from Pete’s lips. It was a contradiction, it was a fluke, it was the adult version of the childish game of “Opposite Day,” it was incongruous showmanship...it was _everything_ he never knew he needed. He began to thrust--long, deep strokes that plumbed Pete’s body and had them both gasping into each other’s mouth as Patrick tried desperately to kiss him, to drink down the groans that he’d never heard from his lips--they were high, they were strained and pained in a way that almost drsounded cruel if it wasn’t for the way he could feel Pete trembling, the muscles in his arms bunching into corded bands as he strained against his bonds as he struggled to hold on, to do what he had been told.

He wanted to hold onto this forever, he wanted to watch the way Pete’s throat worked and listen to the sounds he was making until the day he died...but the tide was ebbing under the pull of the final wave, sweeping through his body as it surged and gained strength with the sympathetic motion beneath. It took every last bit of strength to keep his eyes open as he slammed into Pete a final time, shouting out as he came and came and came, pulsing hot and hard inside him until he felt like he had been wrung dry. But he did it--he watched as Pete’s eyes rolled back in his head as he arched weakly and let out a high cry from deep in his chest--gasping and trembling like it was the very last thing he could find the strength to do--and striped them both with ribbons of white as he finished after Patrick--just like he had been told.

Unable to find the strength to do anything else, he tumbled down, pressing his face to Pete’s neck as they both shuddered through the aftershocks, their bodies singing and vibrating with the sparkling tide as it washed over them. He tasted the salty sweat on Pete’s neck and a thrill went through him as he knew he had done that, he had made him go slack and boneless as the last vestiges of ecstasy whistled through him.

Groaning he tumbled off, wincing at the mess left behind and stared at the ceiling, noticing for the first time it lacked the bright hue it had been when he threw Pete through the door...lifting his head, he looked at the clock on the nightstand and realized it had been nearly _an_   _hour_ _and_ _a_ _half_.  
  
“ _Mpphhhghh_.” Pete mumbled, coughing weakly and rolling his head over to meet Patrick’s eyes. There was something in them that looked different--his jaw was relaxed, his lips tucked up into something that wasn’t quite a smile but most definitely wasn’t a frown. Most significant, however, was the way his eyes shone with contentment, with something that nearly looked like peace.

But then a crooked grin worked its way across his face, a smirk that held no edge. “Think you could maybe untie me?”

“Oh fuck.” Patrick tumbled up to pull at the knot, only to find that Pete had pulled it so tight he couldn’t work his fingers into the mass of silk that was his--apparently--not best specimen of knotwork. In the end, he fished his pants off the floor and pulled the tiny pocketknife from his back pocket, cutting the tie and Pete’s hand’s free. Hissing as he brought his hands down, Pete chafed at his wrists and Patrick poked ineffectual at his shoulders, wondering if he should try to massage them or not.

That was answered when a sweaty, come-covered mess of Pete wrapped itself around him, pressing slobbery, sloppy kisses to his face and seemingly trying to unite their bodies at the molecular level.

“That was awesome.”

Winding his arms around a Pete that felt relaxed, that felt at _peace_ , Patrick hummed as he pressed his smile into his scalp, into meticulously straightened hair that was now curling hopelessly and decided yes, it really was awesome.

 

~//~

  
  
That was the day that started it--that itch under his skin, the craving in between the links of his spine, thrumming just under his teeth. It wasn’t always there, it didn’t need to be--life with Pete was a raucous, idiotic, fantastic journey just as it was. But sometimes, now and then, one of them needed it. Sometimes it was Pete, prodding and poking and being so deliberately annoying in just the ways to drive him over the edge, until all he could see was red and all he needed was to feel the way Pete’s flesh yielded under him. Sometimes Patrick wanted it, it overtook him like a slow-building wave…a flash of skin when Pete lifted his hands and yawned and Patrick imagined his hands tied there, flesh over his stomach pulled taught and heaving. Sometimes he could see in Pete’s eyes that he needed it, that he didn’t even know how to ask but he needed to be tied up and tied down and pushed to his limits so he could fall into something peaceful, something safe for just a while so he could recalibrate which was was up. Sometimes it was a combination of all three, sometimes they couldn't tell who pushed and who pulled, but they ended up together and that was all that mattered.

 

 

 


	2. Boundaries, Cargo Vans and Safewords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lines, comfort levels and interests are important...and he's not about to mess this up. It's *Pete Wentz* after all...the person known for having NO self-restraint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends! Welcome back to the smut-fest! I had such a hard time with this chapter...I don't know why! But I promised it to SnitchesAndTalkers yesterday and I can't bear to be even *more* tardy, so I'm breaking my rule of posting when I'm dead tired. This is a bit of story but it was just...really important to me that this be safe and sane before we went on into the craziness. It's all about respect, folks!!! :) But I hope you enjoy, and I hope to have more out to you soon!!!

 

The aftermath of  _ the thing _ , as Patrick started to think of it, was pretty uneventful. They had gotten up, showered, eaten with Andy and Joe at some weird little highway truck stop diner, and then Pete had fallen blissfully to sleep as Patrick and Joe argued about Slayer’s new album. 

 

Then it had been some sort of interview thing with a magazine of some sort—they all started to blend together after a while—and then another show. It wasn’t until they were on the way to Ohio that Patrick really had a solid several hours to just sit and  _ think _ . The bus was peaceful—Andy and Pete playing Star Wars Battlefront in the lounge meant he could curl up by the back window and mull over  _ the thing _ . 

 

If he was going to be honest, he’d been vacillating between it being all he could think about and pointedly trying  _ not _ to think about it. When he’d had time to think, he’d at first replayed some very choice moments in his mind. The way Pete’s arms had strained against the tie, the breathy needy sounds he had made...but then he had realized  _ all _ the blood was flowing away from his brain and to another part of his body. That made him pause—why was he so into this? Why was he so fascinated with this idea of basically being a total dick and getting off on making Pete miserable? That had led to a spiral of  _ not thinking about it _ as he pointedly tried to convince himself it had been a fluke, a momentary thing—though his brain emphatically stated it had been  _ way _ more than a moment. 

 

That night, when they had tumbled off the bus while the driver fueled it up, he had cornered Pete in the back of the convenience store. He had taken in the slightly-sardonic twist to his lips, the way his eyebrow rose just a bit as Patrick squared off with him and put his hands on his hips like he could intimidate his slightly-taller boyfriend. “Yes, Patrick?”

 

“Is that a thing we do?” Patrick had  _ willed _ himself sternly not to think about what the  _ thing _ was. 

 

The twist to Pete’s lips had widened, spreading across his face like a sunrise. His shoulders relaxed as he nodded, eyes brightening as his lips parted just enough. “Do you want it to be?” 

 

“I’m not asking if  _ I  _ want to, I’m asking if  _ you _ want to, asshole.” He glared, hating how much he wanted to to wipe that smirk off his face, how much he wanted to push him down and make him gasp and beg....But before his brain could go any further down that rabbit hole, Pete was smiling at him like he’d won the lotto and found him a relatively-unblemished tootsie roll from under the seat all at once.

 

“Fuck yes, dude. Was that not totally obvious?” 

 

Thinking back for a moment...Patrick wondered if he’d missed some blindingly obvious signal. If Pete had slipped him a wadded-up sheet of notebook paper that said  _ hey i want you to tie me up and make me scream _ , he’d definitely not gotten it. But when he looked up from where his gaze had fallen to Pete’s lips...he saw it. The gleam of excitement, the ocean of trust, the ache of want. It was all there, in his eyes, all there for the taking. By him. Unable to grasp anything with his stuttering, flailing brain other than the fact that he was in  _ so  _ far over his head...he just nodded. 

 

“Okay.” 

 

~//~ 

 

One of the best things about this whole twisted, slightly messed up thing they had going on was  _ boundaries.  _ Because boundaries weren’t generally something Pete Wentz  _ did.  _ Like, have you met him? He’s kinda the walking epitome of nothing is sacred. 

 

So one of the things that Patrick had insisted on after that first, spine-tinglingly incredible time on the bus was rules. Things like talking about comfort levels, making a safeword (Pete had picked  _ Beyonce,  _ which was just ridiculous. Just like Pete), and a very clear delineation of what they were both comfortable with. He even went so far as to google “BDSM” and “list of kinks” and after the strong urge to dunk his head in bleach when he accidentally clicked on “water sports” he came up with a list. A list that he told himself that they’d talk about together at some point...when he had worked up the courage to say the word  _ fisting  _ out loud.

 

But when all was said and done, they had a safeword, they had discussed  _ how  _ Pete would ask for it when he wanted it (endless nagging and misbehaving was  _ not _ an option). They decided this would be a as-needed, case-by-case kind of thing, and that he was always allowed to talk during a scene. Once that was all out there, Patrick had known he had to make sure one more thing was  _ crystal clear _ to his boyfriend. He had reached for Pete’s hand, still beet-red but needing to say it once and for all. “Pete, listen to me. I—I need you to promise me that you’ll...that you won’t try and please me.” 

 

Pete’s eyes were wry and full of mirth. “I thought that was kinda the point, Pattycakes.” He drawled, and Patrick shook his head adamantly. 

 

“No, fucktard, that’s not what I mean. I can’t—we BOTH have to enjoy this, and if it stops being fun for anyone, that’s when we call knock it off.” He squeezed Pete’s hand. “I trust you, and I trust, well I guess I trust us to figure it out together? But we can’t do that if you’re doing something you’re not into just ‘cause you think I want it.” 

 

“I  _ know _ Patrick, you only told me that about five hundred—“

 

“ _ Pete _ .” He spoke with just the hint of an edge to the word, making Pete’s eyes shoot wide for a split second. “I want you to look me in the eye and  _ promise _ me that you’ll stop me if you’re not into something, okay? Or even if you are into it and it’s just not working that day.  _ Promise me _ .” 

 

That was the thing about Pete, he had learned. While Patrick would say he’d do ten things and then stress endlessly about how to get them done when he realized he had overcommitted, Pete’s solution was to never commit to anything. He’d laugh and twist words around you that sounded so neat that you never realized he never actually said  _ YES.  _ And because Patrick knew that, he knew what was necessary here—if Pete promised he’d do something, he would. Come hell or high water. 

 

So when he nodded solemnly, looking Patrick square in the eyes and murmured  _ I promise,  _ with a soft, sweetly vulnerable smile on his lips...Patrick knew it was going to be okay. They could do this. 

 

~//~

 

Two days later Patrick pulled Pete off the bus, pausing by their bunks to grab the notebook he had shoved under the mattress, scowling at Pete’s look of interest. He pushed him past Andy dozing on the couch with  _ The Humanist Manifesto  _ open on his chest and fished the keys from his pocket that Marco the tech had given him earlier. “Get in.” He gestured to the now-open van door in front of them and Pete just shrugged before climbing in to perch on the edge of the bench seat. 

 

“Is this where you sell my organs on the black market, Lunchbox?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Or are we gonna defile this van together?” 

 

“Neither.” Patrick huffed as he climbed in and pushed the keys into the ignition, turning the air on to keep them from suffocating in the summer’s heat. Crawling backwards, he settled on the bench seat next to his boyfriend and felt the sudden panic clawing across his chest. He could do this. They  _ had _ to do ths. “It’s time to figure out--stuff.”

 

“Stuff?” Pete smiled at him, bright eyes dancing with mischief and he found himself biting his lip as his nerves started make his palms sweat. Sternly reminding himself that he was an introverted nerd that got up and sang to thousands of people, he could do something as simple as  _ kink negotiation  _ with his boyfriend. Opening the book and shoving it between them, he was gratified to see Pete’s eyes widening as he looked at the list and then back up.

 

“You  _ actually _ researched this?” Pete gawked and he nodded, thinking back to vainly trying to hide the screen of the ancient computer at the library as he had scrolled through the words at the last stop. “And then you-- _ wrote it all down?”  _

 

“I don’t want to fuck it up, I--” He pulled his hat off and smashed it across his face, hoping in some idiotic way it would cool the sudden riot of flames. Why did this have to be so  _ hard? _ But then gentle hands were pulling it down, fingers brushing softly against his flushed cheeks, and Pete was smiling at him with softness in his eyes. 

 

“Hey, hey.” He untangled Patrick’s fingers from their hold on his hat before gently placing it back on his head. “I’m not gonna promise that I’m not  _ totally _ gonna crack up at you actually saying  _ watersports _ out loud, but we’re in this together, okay?” Nodding, he took a deep breath, telling himself sternly  _ you can do this. You *want* to do this, remember? _ They shared a small smile of confidants and conspirators, before Pete grabbed the notebook and let out a giggle. “So. Let’s go from the top. Biting.” He rolled his eyes with another laugh. “I think that’s a well-established  _ yes _ for both of us, right?” Patrick nodded, satisfied with how this was going so far, and looked down at the list at what was next and nearly choked. 

 

“Uh, I just wrote them all down, at least all the ones I could find? It doesn’t mean I’m, that I want to...to...”

 

Pete just rolled his eyes. “Say it.” He sat back against the side of the van and fixed Patrick with a superior look. 

 

It felt like he had cotton balls in his mouth and his brain...and he wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if he had actually burst into flames. “Fisting?” He sneaked a glance up to see Pete grinning widely at him. “Is that...something you’d want?” 

 

Slim shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “I mean, I’m not like...dying to try it right now? But I’d try it sometime, if you wanted to.” 

 

Patrick nodded, looking down at the list again and letting out a small sigh that the next thing was a bit less...horrifying. 

 

“Lingerie.” 

 

Now a grin split Pete’s face and excitement flared into his eyes like a sparkler. “Oh hell yes. I was actually thinking of getting some like...red lace panties. Think that’d be fuckin’ awesome.” Patrick couldn’t help but imagine it--Pete’s cock tucked into sheer red lace, it framing the gorgeous curve of his ass…

 

“Yeah, that’d be good.” He whispered, eyes flicking up to meet Pete’s. “You--you’d look so pretty in red. With your skin.” 

 

A small moan fell from Pete’s lips and Patrick couldn’t help the small smile on his lips. “I didn’t write it on here, but I think we both know you have a praise kink.” They both laughed at the pronouncement, knowing full well it was true. Then in bumbling, awkward, laughing, blushing, grinning succession they wound their way through the list. Patrick refused to budge that Pete wouldn’t call him anything ridiculous like  _ master _ or  _ sir _ , and he told Pete that he wasn’t really interested in latex wear or leather fetish. Pete had wanted to try humiliation, eyes widening as he babbled on about kissing Patrick’s favorite pair of boots, but that had been a hard no in the end. They both shuddered at  _ watersports  _ and  _ scat _ , but agreed on trying out beads and vibrators and cock rings. 

 

“Knife play?” Pete read, and they both shook their heads at the same time. “Fuck no. That’s--no. I bang myself up enough as it is.” Patrick had let out a sigh of relief at that, not wanting to imagine cutting him in any circumstances other than slitting his throat when he was annoying. 

 

By the time they’d reached the end of the list, Patrick felt something warm and content circling in his chest. It was like when he got a song  _ just right _ , when the notes finally settled into the perfect order and he let out a sigh that it was  _ there _ . Pete was looking at him intensely, his body language conveying words like  _ melted caramel _ and  _ blob  _ and  _ need _ . He pushed the notebook off the seat and crawled in Patrick’s lap, grinding down on him with a smile. 

 

“Want you. Please, can we--can we do  _ something _ ?” He panted against Patrick’s mouth and it took a considerable amount of fortitude not to just come right then, at the way he said  _ please _ . 

 

So Patrick just nodded, awkwardly climbing over the bench seat to the wide cargo area in the back, scowling as Pete slithered over with all the grace in the world to settle on his knees in front of him. His eyes were huge and dark and they seemed to make everything drain out of Patrick’s head and go  _ other _ places. But he licked his lips, willing them to move. “I want…” He swallowed, shoving Pete back onto the floor of the van and pulling his pants open, struggling with the zipper and button and the three studded belts he was wearing for some reason. “I want you to... _ talk _ .” 

 

A ebony eyebrow arched towards perfectly-straightened bangs as Pete gave him an intrigued look. “You want  _ me _ to talk? Doesn’t sound like something out of the ordinary, lunchbox.” 

 

“No, I want you to…” The word hovered on his lips as he pulled Pete’s pants off, as he pushed the t-shirt up to crumple around his wrists. That gave him an idea--he twisted it around creatively before taking one of Pete’s belts and looping it through to make a crude set of restraints. Nothing that would hold him if he really wanted to be free, but that didn’t matter did, it? This wasn’t about if Pete  _ could _ get free...it was about if he  _ chose _ to do so. Looking down at him as he sat back, feeling better to be still clothed even as Pete was laid out bare-chested with his cock half out of his pants, he bit his lip as he thought of the words. Of what he wanted. Pete gave him a teasing,  _ give me your best _ look and Patrick felt his blood start to simmer as it clicked in his head. “I want you to  _ beg _ .” Something lit up in Pete’s face then as he leaned down to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling over his nearly hairless-chest until he could taste  _ Pete _ , his essence. He gasped  _ fuck ‘Trick  _ and he felt the sudden need to earn it, to pull the words out of his mouth until all he could say was  _ Patrick  _ and  _ please.  _ He looked up at Pete as he slid down his body, smiling as he hovered over Pete’s cock, now fully erect and  _ very _ interested in what was going on by the looks of it.  “What do you want?” 

 

“Fuck--everything, anything.” Pete’s pupils were blown, only a narrow ring of topaz visible from where he was panting in the still-warm air, despite the AC chugging along all the way at the front of the van. “Please, I--I want you to suck me,  _ please.”  _

 

Nodding, Patrick dipped down and took him in, just a few inches of his cock slipping into the warm heat of his mouth. He reveled in Pete’s groan, at the way his back arched and his legs tensed before pulling off to give him what he felt like was an evil grin. “If you stop talking, I stop what I’m doing.” With that he darted his tongue out to flick at the head before dragging it on a long stripe from where he was using his hand to hold the base and upwards. Pete nodded with a gasp and he sunk down again to a gratifying stream of inventive requests and barely-coherent begging. 

 

“ _ Fuck  _ ‘Trick, babe your  _ mouth _ , God it’s just...it’s the best. You suck me so good, so fucking perfect that I can’t fucking--” he moaned long and low as Patrick hollowed his cheeks and moved upwards. “--God, I’ll just look over you sometimes and think about it, I’ll watch you talk and  _ fuck _ it’s all I can think about. You’re so fucking perfect, you’re so goddamned amazing I just want to give you everything, you can have it all, anything you want just  _ holy shit _ don’t stop, please please please don’t stop I want you.”

 

Pulling off again, his hands feathering out from the base of his cock to sweep across the tender skin of his groin, Patrick cocked an eyebrow, ignoring his own aching dick for a moment. “Well, you have me. What do you want me to do?” Pete opened his mouth, and he shook his head with a knowing look. “ _ Be specific.”  _

 

“ _ God.”  _ Pete groaned from deep in his chest, a reverberating sound Patrick swore he could feel with his lips as he resumed his champion cock-sucking, if he did say so himself. “ _ Fuck _ , I want--I want to touch you so bad but it’s even better knowing I can’t--” He sucked in a stuttering of breath as Patrick’s hand began to caress his balls, fingers flitting gossamer-soft over the paper-thin skin. “I want to, to come and I want you to suck me ‘till I can’t take it anymore. I want you to to come all over me, I want people to know I’m yours, I want you,  _ fuck _ ‘Trick please, please God you’re so pretty, so fucking pretty and you’re so goddamned perfect and I love you so much and I just wanna be on my knees or my back for you all the time you make me feel so good and I just can’t, I can’t-- _ GodJesusFuck please!”  _   


Through his babbling Patrick had started to move the hand around his cock, swirling it up to meet his mouth before sinking down as deep as he could before moving back up. It was a rhythmic cycle of up-down, up-down, of spit and slickness, of the slide of Pete’s cock hard against his tongue before the velvet-soft crown was cresting his mouth. He was hard, he was  _ so fucking hard _ he thought he could have punched a hole through the bottom of the van but he held off...determined Pete would come first. 

 

Snuffling and stuttering for breath, he took his hand off Pete’s balls and threw his leg over his shoulder, sucking his fingers in with his cock for a moment before trailing back, back...they didn’t have lube, they didn’t have anything but he guessed just the suggestion would be enough. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare fuckin’ stop.” He gasped out--a momentary break in the tempo, a bridge to the final chorus--before sinking down as deep as he could and pressing his spit-slick fingers against Pete’s hole. 

 

“ _ Fuck fuck fuck _ , babe, please please do it, please I need it so bad I need, I’m so close ‘Trick please I’m so close, please I’ll be a good boy I fuckin’ swear I’ll be good, just please please I need-- _ PATRICK!”   _ He threw his head back and cried out as the single searching finger breached his body, pressing up for that spot Patrick knew was there, that he desperately had hoped to find on the first shot and  _ had _ . Judging by the way Pete’s legs were trembling, all it would take was just a drag of fingers against hidden places, of a final swirl of his tongue against aching flesh…and then Pete was coming, coating his mouth with  _ bittersaltyslick _ and he tried to swallow it down. A few drops escaped but Pete didn’t seem to notice, back curved and the leg over Patrick’s shoulder trembling so hard he wondered distantly if he might kick him accidentally. 

 

But then he slackened, body relaxing in a perfect slump of completion, of satisfaction...and Patrick hollowed his cheeks one last time as he pulled off, sucking hard. He was thrilled at the little whine that fell from Pete’s parted lips, the way his hips jerked and his arms twitched in the makeshift restraints. 

 

Settling his leg down with care, Patrick gasped as he shifted his hips to crawl up and straddle Pete’s chest, cock out and blood-flushed in his trembling hand. He settled around Pete’s ribs, hips twitching forward involuntarily as he thrust into his hand. Peaceful eyes the color of chocolate and amber opened lazily and Pete gave him a tiny nod, blood-bitten lips parting even further as he looked up at Patrick looking every inch a debauched virgin. 

 

With a surprised moan Patrick came, striping his neck and cheek, trying to catch the worst of it on his fingers as his vision went white with pleasure. Dimly he heard Pete’s gasp as his eyes tried to slam shut but his brain demanded he watch, he  _ watch _ his come ribbon Pete’s face because he was  _ his.  _ Finally, he was spent, pleasure rippling through him like a ribbon on the breeze, and he leaned forward to brace himself against the bag of the last row of seats. 

 

“Fuck.” Pete whispered and he nodded, slumping down to undo the belt so Pete could shake his hands free of the cotton...and then he was grinning as Patrick tumbled to the still-hard but thankfully-carpeted floor of the van. “That was  _ awesome _ ,” he grinned, wiping his face and neck clean with the t-shirt before moving down to mop at Patrick’s hand.

 

“Yeah, it really kinda was.” Patrick felt something  _ good _ settle in his bones...the sudden faith that maybe he really  _ could _ do this. Maybe he really could find a way to make Pete look this happy and content. Maybe it wasn’t as horrible and terrifying as he thought, and maybe, just maybe, he was a tiny bit good at the whole thing. “You’re shirt, you’re not gonna put it back on, are you?” 

 

“Gross, no way.” Pete grabbed his belt and wound it around the shirt before looking back up at him with a smile. “Nobody’s gonna bat an eye I’m shirtless, dude. Come on, it’s  _ me _ .” 

 

It  _ was _ him, Patrick mused as Pete pulled him up and pressed a gentle, searching, content kiss to his lips. Nobody would think twice if he had a few extra bruises or heard him yelling. Nobody would ever think that Pete was the one who wanted to be tied down and dominated, that wanted to be made submissive to Patrick’s formidable will. Though...they should. He was a musician, after all...Pete was the best thing his fingers had ever danced across, that he had stroked over and over to find  _ just _ the right note. Pete was his magnum opus, his favorite song, and damn if it didn’t feel good to make him sing  _ just right _ . 

 

Pulling away, Pete zipped his pants up with a smile and then moved to the back doors. “Better not forget your notebook, Lunchbox...though I’d  _ love _ to see you explain that list to Charlie.” 

 

Then he was jumping out, laughing bright and silvered at Patrick’s stuttered gasp as he fumbled around for the notebook, coming back with the keys that he held out like an offering. Patrick took them and kept his hand as they headed back to the bus, back to their band...and he couldn’t help that his mind was already whirling with the  _ possibilities.  _

 


	3. Never Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends! I'm so sorry this took basically...twelve million years for me to update. I've had about three more chapters pretty much finished in my google docs, just...*this* chapter refused to be written! But I've also been in a bit of a slump lately, so hopefully this is the first step in getting out of that! Thank you to the lovely folks who have left me comments, and please talk to me on Tumblr! I love friends! <3

Unsurprisingly, there were bumps and hiccups along the way. Like life, nothing was perfect or right the first time...but they figured it out, together. 

 

Like the time that something had been off in Pete’s head but he hadn’t wanted to say anything, too afraid of putting Patrick off of their newly-found hobby. He had moaned and hummed and given the  _ oohhs _ and  _ ahhhs _ in the right places, but it wasn’t quite right, it just a hair of a beat off-time, and Patrick had known. He had sat back on his heels, brow lowered and eyes stormy and furiously demanded what was wrong and why he wasn’t using his safeword. Pete had curled in on himself, ashamed and low, desperately trying to avoid meeting his gaze. In the end, Patrick had yelled out a frustrated  _ For fuck’s sake Pete, what the hell is wrong with you!? _ And Pete had jumped up with a sob, locking himself in the bathroom and refusing to come out. 

 

Patrick had banged against the door, alternately brooding and pleading, cajoling and murmuring. Eventually, he had slid down, pulling out his sidekick and researching to the pitiful sound of Pete’s sniffles. An hour later, Pete had come out to Patrick’s open arms and whispered apologies, and his promise to never raise his voice during a scene again. He had kissed the tear tracks from his cheeks, swept his thumbs across and begged his forgiveness. Pete had given him a tiny, shy smile and they had gone and watched tv for the rest of the night, awkward with the shared weight off their individual transgressions hanging between them. 

 

They didn’t play for months, Patrick unable to even muster a mental image of Pete’s hands bound with tears in his eyes that weren’t heartbreak. Until Pete had kissed him and whispered  _ please, can we? Just…small. We can start small, yeah? _ Patrick’s eyes had widened, he had felt protestations tripping from his lips and he started to pull away. But Pete had twisted his legs around his waist, trapping and pinning him exactly where he wanted him to be and whispered  _ I’m not afraid of you. I want this. Please.  _ He had given in, mostly just because he wanted Pete to be happy, refusing to go farther than lacing their fingers and holding them over his head as he thrust slow and deep, kissing him like he needed him to breathe. But the peace in Pete’s eyes, the contented, happy, blissed-out smile he had given him as he breathed  _ thank you  _ against his chest and promptly dropped into a deep sleep afterwards had made Patrick reconsider. 

 

So he had gone to the library, pulling his hat low over his eyes and conveniently forgetting to put his last name on the sign-in log and took a computer in the corner. He had sat all day: reading, researching, learning. He had gotten a piece of scratch paper and one of those infuriatingly short pencils from the reference deck and scribbled down numbers that he found online. He read about things like the origins of the moniker of  _ safe, sane, consensual _ , about safety and the balance of power. About the fact that the sub was the one who was truly in control at all times, not the dom. That it was his job, his  _ responsibility _ to make a space where Pete could let go, could surrender and trust Patrick to keep him safe. That this idea of play was more like free fall, trusting that your parachute would open even as you thrilled with the feeling of weightlessness as you plummeted to your death. Patrick was Pete’s parachute, as long as they were in the scene. The heady thrill of it, of the idea of giving him that place to relax, to breathe out and not feel the need to hope the air was there to breathe back in...it made something firm and solid settle in his spine. He  _ would _ figure this out. He could give this to Pete. 

 

So the next day, he had kissed him goodbye in the morning and gone out, saying he had errands to run and chuckled as Pete just nodded and went back to playing halo. He had sat in his car in the mall parking lot and dialed the numbers...calling one dom after another until one said yes to the easiest phone sex ever that contained absolutely no moaning. He had agreed to pay her the same price that she charged for a long-distance encounter...but instead he had explained, asked questions that made his cheeks burn like they were on fire but nobody was there to see it, to laugh at him. The dom—Lady Grey—certainly hadn’t laughed. She had explained things easily, clearing up points where he was confused and giving him ideas of what Pete might  _ really _ need as he tried his best to tell her what he seemed to want. Pete—she guessed—was someone who needed to know he was  _ good _ , and Patrick had snorted in laughter of his own at that. Yes, that was an unavoidable fact—Pete Wentz had a complex that he wasn’t enough, that he’d never  _ be _ enough. She had hummed in agreement, saying that she had seen many people who used BDSM to discover their own worth, to prove to themselves that they  _ could _ do something right, that they  _ could  _ obey and do what was asked of them. The key, she said, was to never set him up for failure in the beginning. If Patrick wanted him to stay still, tie his hands down so he  _ had  _ to do it until  _ he _ asked for the restraints to stay off. Until he knew he could obey and succeed, rather than fail. 

 

Patrick’s head was spinning when he hung up three hours later, his mind whirling through all she had told him as he drove to the store and got a money order for the amount he owed her, mailing it to the PO box she had given him and decided it was money well spent. He saved the number in his phone, simply as  _ Grey _ , and felt like he had an ally in this all as they started to play again, building carefully as he did his best to do what she had said: to make Pete a space. 

 

It had gone well until one day Pete had come all needy and wanting, eyes dark and hands clever, he hadn’t noticed at first the sadness buried beneath the pretty tilt of his lashes. But then he saw it—he saw the way his breath came just a bit too quick. The way Pete, on all fours and  _ delicious _ , was pushing into the strokes of the paddle. How when he stopped he begged for more with a desperation that didn’t speak of want or lust but of absolution. He knew he had made the right call when he gently untied his hands and asked what was wrong, that they were going to stop...and Pete dissolved into a pile of begging, pleading apologies. Tears running from his eyes in rivulets as he promised to be  _ good _ , to be better...then begged in around terrified gasps for Patrick not to leave him. That he’d be  _ good, he promised… _ Patrick had nearly cried himself at that, pulling him close and pressing kisses to every bit of him he could reach. Running his hands soft and gentle against hot skin and murmuring in every way he could think of that he  _ was  _ good.  He whispered love and devotion and promises to never leave. He soothed and held and calmed him until Pete was lax and soft around him...falling into a deep sleep with his hand wound tightly with Patrick’s. 

 

He had extricated himself and called Lady Grey from the bathroom, heart pounding and praying that she would pick up. She hadn’t immediately, but had called back when he had been in the kitchen making a sandwich and trying not to panic. He had explained, terrified once again that he was hurting him, that he was  _ hurting himself _ and it was all his fault and she had let him go until he was done. 

 

_ You did the right thing.  _ She said and he was surprised how much it made his heartbeat slow to hear it.  _ Sometimes they want you to fix something, and you’re not there to fix him. You’re there to give him a space to find the answer himself, or maybe even just to find the question, but you can’t solve anything.  _ He had stayed silent at that, not sure how to ask the next thing without sounding petulant, but she had guessed with that uncanny ability to understand his fears.  _ You won’t always know right away, but it’s your responsibility to pay attention just like you did and pick up on the signs and stop.  _ She paused and then let out a low chuckle.  _ Make him look you in the eye and answer yours questions. I’ve found once they’re even halfway into a scene, most subs can’t look you in the eye and lie.  _

 

The next morning, when Patrick awoke to an empty bed and the sound of Pete singing in the kitchen, he had pulled himself out of bed like a missile homing in on the smell of coffee. Drinking it down like it was magic, he thought of the previous night and considered Pete before him, bright-eyed and happy with no indication of what had happened. So he waited and mulled it over some more, until he felt satisfied with what he wanted to say. 

 

“Pete, c’mere for a second and sit down?” Like a five year old, he bounced over and plopped down on the couch with a bright grin. 

 

“What’s up, pattycakes?” 

 

“I…” Patrick trailed off and saw the grin falter, like he knew what was coming. “I want to talk to you about last night.” There was a wave of the hand, and he saw by the set of Pete’s shoulders he was going to brush it off. “No, seriously, listen to me.” He turned and faced him, giving him his full attention and looking him straight in the eyes. “I—it’s okay if sometimes you’re not into it. Sometimes  _ I’m _ not into it.” They both remembered the time nearly a year ago when he had simply not been feeling it but had tried anyways. His own reticence and hesitation had pushed Pete into feeling edgy and unwanted and they had spent the night glaring at each other. “But you—we don’t have to do  _ that _ if you need to hear that you’re good. I’ll tell you regardless.” 

 

“Yeah, but like...I’m  _ not _ . I’m not always good.” Pete looked vaguely frustrated, and he felt like an idiot. 

 

“No, you aren’t. I mean, sometimes yeah I want to punch you in the face. But if you’re feeling low, I—“ He reached out and took Pete’s hand. “This isn’t about me beating an answer out of you. This is about you feeling safe, this is you feeling like you have a place where you can find the answer yourself. I’m just here to cheer you on.” Pete had nodded with a smile, and Patrick squared his shoulders. “But I want you to promise me that you’re not going to  _ use _ me to punish you. You can’t use me to...make you feel  _ absolved _ . That isn’t what this is about, and I can’t keep doing it if I have to wonder if you’re using me as a way to make yourself into a whipping boy.” Pete opened his mouth, closed it, and then nodded. 

 

“Okay.” 

 

After that, he started beginning each scene with what Pete’s safeword was, that he could always use it and Patrick wouldn't be mad. He would look Pete in the eyes before they would begin and ask if he was okay, if he was feeling up to this. Lady Grey had been right...Pete couldn’t lie to him, then.

 

~//~

 

Patrick was feeling...frisky. That was probably the wrong word, but he was definitely feeling like he wanted one thing in particular and it wasn’t the bag of Cheetos Pete was currently enthralled by. But he waited until they were gone and he had wiped his hands on his sweats (so gross) to ask the question.

 

“Hey, do you wanna….” He looked down at his fingernails before looking up to see Pete’s eyes on him with an interested gaze. “Play?” He finished, and Pete’s head was bobbing up and down nearly before he had finished the word. 

 

“Fuck yes.” 

 

It occurred to him that there were very few times he could think of that Pete would probably ever turn down sex. Especially the kinky kind. But he just nodded, and motioned towards the bedroom with his chin. “Go brush your teeth and get on the bed. I don’t want to lick Cheetos out of your mouth.” 

 

Pete scampered away with a laugh, already pulling his shirt off as he vanished down the hall, and Patrick thought. Thought about how he wanted the scene to go, the order he wanted to do things in, the telltale signs and markers that he would look for in Pete. It was a bit like planning how a show was going to go, he realized. You had to consider it from all angles, front and back, from the opening video all the way to the encore and try to anticipate everything that could go wrong, every way you could trip up.

 

After silence had been reigning over the apartment for a while, he nodded his head and stood up, heading towards the bedroom. Pete was there when he reached the doorway, on his knees on the bed, naked with his fingers laced behind his neck. He couldn’t help but let out a hiss of anticipation when he saw him, and Pete’s eyes darted up with a smile. 

 

“On your back.” Patrick ordered and Pete complied, flopping back but keeping his hands behind his neck, splaying his legs like an invitation. Opening the box they kept in the closet for this, Patrick decided with a shrug to keep his options open and dragged the whole thing to the side of the bed. Sitting down, he peered down at him. “What’s your safeword?”

 

“Beyonce.” Pete answered with a smile, and Patrick held his gaze for a long moment, looking at the way the light played in his eyes, the line of his shoulders. 

 

“Are you feeling okay, for this?” He asked, tilting his head to the side just a bit, just in case it helped. Pete nodded, and he felt satisfied--all looked well. He held out a back out mask for Pete to see. “Do you feel like you could wear this?” He asked, knowing that sometimes the darkness felt like abandonment. Apparently this wasn’t one of those times, and Pete reached out and took it as he shook his head, settling it on with a smile. Patrick nodded, setting his phone in the dock and turning on a station that played low, sultry house beats. He reached out and ran his hands down Pete’s arms, feeling his skin beneath his fingers. “I’m going to tie you up, okay?” 

 

“ _ Yesssss.”  _ Pete hissed and Patrick reached in and took the two sets of handcuffs from the box. A delicious idea filled his head, of Pete spread wide and tied to the corners of the bed and he resolved to get some rope. But for now, he buckled the handcuffs around his wrists, telling him what he was doing, how amazing he looked so he’d know he wasn’t alone, and then buckled each hand to the corner of the bed. 

 

Then he remembered what he needed and reached into the nightstand drawer, to the box long forgotten there, and pulled a tiny foil packet free. Pete was already hard, just from the act of being tied up and he couldn’t help a tiny grin at that. But he just ripped the wrapper and slid the condom down him and relished the sound of confusion he made. 

 

“Don’t worry. You’ll see why later.” He promised and Pete nodded as he climbed up to straddle his hips as he grabbed the lube. “Now, I want you to listen.” Squirting the lube on his fingers, he reached around and began to open himself up, letting every sigh and gasp fall from his lips, letting Pete feel the incidental motions. Before long they were both panting, Pete whispering a steady stream of  _ fuck fuck so hot fuck _ . Once he was ready, he pulled his fingers free and shuffled higher. “I’m going to ride you, but you can’t come ‘till I say.” 

 

Pete nodded his head and he lined up, settling his knees and beginning to sink down...slow, slow, slowly. It had been so long since he’d done this, but that was alright; he wanted and and felt confident they could figure it out. Once he was flush and his weight was resting on Pete’s hips, he stilled and took a deep breath. Pete’s head was thrown back, his hands clenching and unclenching in the cuffs as he gasped beneath him, and Patrick didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so beautiful. 

 

“How does it feel?” He whispered and Pete nodded his head choppily, back arching a bit as he rocked forward gently. 

 

“ _ Jesusfuck _ , it feels so good, I— _ God _ .” Pete shook beneath him as he started to move, small movements that gradually grew bigger, harder, sloppier as he found that spot of starlight inside himself and rocked Pete’s cock against it. He moaned, the sound mingling with Pete’s open-mouth gasps and lost himself to the rhythm. It was so good,  _ so fucking good _ he was sorely tempted to just let this be it, to fuck himself on Pete’s cock until he striped him white. But the plan waved in the back of his mind, the idea full of promise.

 

He placed a hand on the flat of Pete’s chest and stilled. “I’m going to stop now. Trust me.” He told him and pushed himself off to flop to the bed next to him. Pete groaned, thrusting his hips uselessly in the air like he could discover a magical way to keep contact and whined high in his throat. Patrick’s blood was pounding through his veins, demanding he get back on and fuck himself senseless, but he pushed it aside as he rolled over, latching his mouth onto the closest of Pete’s nipples. He worried and licked it, gentle bites soothed with long laps of his tongue as he tried to pull himself back from the ledge, to get himself under control. Pete writhed under his onslaught, jerking and rattling the handcuffs and Patrick let out a small, happy sigh as he pushed himself up and peeled the condom off his cock. Climbing to his knees, he settled himself on his stomach between Pete’s legs and pushed them back, spreading his cheeks wide and admiring the pucker of sensitive skin there. He heard Pete’s breath hitch as he circled a finger over it gently, teasing.

 

“I’m gonna eat you out.” He informed him, hearing his stuttered groan but not pausing as he went to the task, keeping him spread wide as he licked a broad stroke over that twitching, needing place. Pete let out a shout, arching his back and gasping as he licked and teased, teeth grazing his rim as he worked a finger inside as his body slackened and gave. Reaching out to grab the lube, he lashed tiny, pointed strokes of his tongue against him as he slicked his fingers before starting to work two into him. Pete moaned, a cracked  _ yes, God yes please _ as he brushed that place deep within him. An errant thought entered his mind that he should get some flavored lube, but he pushed that away as Future Patrick’s problem. Now, now all he had to do was work Pete open enough, just enough. Two fingers were sliding easily now and he mentally nodded—that was good. Pulling off, he bit a gentle line of bruises that would never color down Pete’s inner thigh and listened to him gasp at each like a song. 

 

“You’re so pretty, you sound so amazing, so hot.” He murmured as he reached into the box for a final time. “Can you be good for me? Can you hold on?” 

 

Pete pulled in a stuttering breath and nodded. “Y—yes, yes I can I—“ He hissed as Patrick began to circle his rim with the toy. “ _ God _ please yes. I can take it.” 

 

“I know you can.” Patrick decided to change his mental setlist just a bit, decided to alter his original plan because it just felt right.  _ “ _ I’m going to take off the blindfold, okay? Close your eyes.” Pete nodded and he reached up, pulling it off gently and noted happily Pete’s eyes were closed. “Okay, open them slow, it’s going to be bright.” He obeyed, cracking an eye open until they were both wide and riveted to him as he kept circling his rim with the toy. “Ready?” He asked and Pete nodded. 

 

Gently, he worked it into him slow and easy. Pete canted his hips, groaning as he slid it inside, automatically angling it up and searching for that place. When he found it, Pete let out a stuttered yelp as he rocked the toy to press there, to send ecstasy pulsing through his nerves. 

 

“God, yes,  _ yes  _ please I—“ He groaned and threw his head back, trying to grind down onto the toy and Patrick savored every second of it, watching him fuck himself with abandon. Bending down, he lapped at the head of his cock, gentle licks that he knew drove Pete mad. He took him deep, bobbing his head down the length of his blood-stiff cock and once again considered abandoning his original plan, of finishing him like this and then slipping inside, fucking him through the orgasm and beyond. But he told himself  _ keep your eye on the prize _ , and pulled off relishing Pete’s groan of disappointment. 

 

It felt like Pete’s gaze was molten, burning him as he pushed to his knees and crawled up over him to claim his mouth in a deep, searching kiss. He ground their cocks together, drinking up his moans and whines and thought of the toy deep inside him, keeping him open and pressing in all the right places. Pushing up with a gasp of his own, he shuffled to his knees and lined himself up. 

 

“Gonna fuck you now, fuck you top and bottom.” He gasped as he slid down Pete’s cock, the slide even more delightful without the condom, just like he had planned. The riot of sensation hurtled through them like a thunderstorm and Pete thrashed and bucked beneath him, little pained whines coming from his lips as he watched with rapt attention as Patrick lowered himself down. Once he was settled on the bony jut of Pete’s hipbones he leaned forward, rocking his hips just a bit and prayed for his voice to stay steady. “That’s a vibe inside you. Can you take it all? Can you hold on, good boy?” 

 

Pete nodded, steel in his eyes as blown pupils met his own. “Yes, Patrick.” He whispered, cock twitching inside him and he tried to not shake himself. 

 

“I know you can.” He smiled, settling back on him and reaching back between his legs. “You can come when I do, but not before.” He ordered and Pete nodded, hands clenched around the chain of the handcuffs. 

 

With a flick of his finger, Patrick turned the vibe on and Pete’s reaction was instantaneous. The muscles in his arms corded and bunched as he pulled on the restraints, throwing his head back with a shout as the pleasure assaulted him, inside and out. Patrick gasped himself, rocking his hips and fucking himself deep as he fisted a hand around his cock. A moan slipped from his lips as he moved, hand stroking in time and he felt the end nearing, hurtling towards them both like a freight train. Pete was shaking, mouth open and eyes forced wide as he tried to thrust up to meet him, the toy moving with him until he was battered from all sides. 

 

Settling his knees more firmly on the bed, Patrick raised himself up and began to fuck down in short, powerful bursts, dragging the ridged head of Pete’s cock against that place inside him and his thighs started to tremble as he began the headlong fall. Pete’s head was thrashing back and forth, back arching and his eyes squinted shut in a rictus of pleasure. 

 

“Look at me. Watch me.” Patrick gasped a second before he let go, before his hand slipped up and over the head of his cock a final time, before he pushed down against that place deep inside him a final time. Pete’s eyes snapped open and his jaw dropped slack, high panting whines falling from his lips as he looked at Patrick’s hand on his own cock. Leaning forward, he twined a hand into the hair at the back of his neck and kept his head steady as he fell into the towering pleasure with a growl of  _ watch _ .

 

He came with the force of a space launch, the power of it blowing through him like a concussive blast. Pete’s eyes were wide open as he slammed his hips down and shot white across his chest, grinding down on his cock like a single micrometer of him not inside him was not acceptable. He groaned his name, cock pulsing as he  _ came and came and came _ ...and then Pete’s eyes were rolling back, pulling against the grip he had in his hair as he threw his head back. His back bowed, hips arching up into Patrick’s as he shouted out a gasping, wrecked plea of  _ Patrick _ ! that dissolved into a long keening cry, and he could feel the warm rush deep inside.

 

Gasping, Patrick rocked his hips, milking him through it as best he could through the multicolored light storm dancing through his own body. He savored the way Pete slumped to the bed like a marionette whose strings had been cut, the way his arms and legs twitched and he rolled his spine with the vibration of the toy inside him. But then he was pushing off, tumbling to the bed and with his last ounce of remaining cognizance, Patrick reached down to turn the vibe off. 

 

They lay there for a long moment, trembling and shaking with the power of it whistling through them. But then Patrick reached up, unclamping the handcuffs one at a time, even though it took him several attempts to get his wooden limbs to cooperate. Pete’s hands dropped to the pillows above his head and for a long moment they both just laid there, calves and elbows touching but nothing else. But then Pete’s head turned, lust-drunk eyes heavy with sleep meeting his and a dopey, blissed-out smile lit up his face. 

 

“That was…” he sighed, twitching as he reached down to pull the toy free with a shudder and threw it off the side of the bed. “...amazing.” His hand returned above his head to lace with Patrick’s sticky fingers, but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest. “Have I told you you’re a kinky genius?” 

 

Patrick huffed at that but bolstered the strength to pull Pete close, to wrap his body around him and press his nose to the coarse, wiry hairs at the base of his neck. “I just want to...I just want to make it good for you.” 

 

“It always is.” Pete murmured sleepily, and Patrick decided a bit of a nap wasn’t the worst idea ever.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Alphadog and Omegalomaniac." This chapter takes place about 6 months after FUTCT's release.


End file.
